


Reflecting

by SweetSass228



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Cyborg Anatomy, Gen, Memories, Morning Routines, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSass228/pseuds/SweetSass228
Summary: Raiden spends an early morning in his apartment and reflects on current and past events.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I wanted to see Raiden dealing with his emotions and memories while going through a morning routine. I do actually enjoy seeing characters fighting with their inner demons and we all know that Raiden has got something serious going on in there. I also wanted to dive deeper into how cyborg technology functions and how Raiden deals with having a cyborg body. I might write more like this in the future, if you guys like it. It's supposed to be set sometime after MGR:R where Raiden is taking a short breather in his apartment. Hope you like it!

Raiden woke with a hard gasp, pulling air into his artificial lungs. He coughed as he started choking on his own air and felt the area around him.

Soft sheets in between his fingers. 

He reached behind him without looking. A hard pillow that had been softened with sleep.

He looked around. Dark room, slowly being illuminated with light from the outside. The outside was a dark blue shade.

It was dawn, probably around 5:30. 

Another nightmare. Third one so far this week. Raiden took a deep breath through his nose and slowly let it out through his mouth. He brought his fingers up and ran them through his hair. He needed a shower, judging by the slightly oily texture he felt. 

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and simply sat there for a few moments before getting up and taking slow steps into the nearby bathroom. He felt around for the switch and blinked at the harsh light until his eyes could adjust. He avoided looking into the mirror. He already had a good mental image of what he probably looked like. 

Tired eyes, hair a complete mess. Looking like the life had been sucked completely out of him.

He turned on the shower and pulled off his nightshirt and a pair of sweatpants he'd used for sleeping. He didn't even wait for the water to turn hot before he jumped in, head up and eyes closed. The cold water was a slight shock to his systems but it woke him up and got rid of the haze. It lasted only a few seconds before the water turned warm and he lowered his head to wet his hair.

He stood motionless like that for a while. The water felt good, calming. It was like he could fall asleep again, standing up in his shower. He brushed some wet locks of silver hair away from his eyes and pushed it back, inhaling some steam from the hot water. It filled his lungs and warmed his body, inside and out.

He washed his hair and body and spent a few more minutes standing in the middle of his shower before shutting off the water. He stood motionless, listening to the slowing drops of the water falling onto the shower floor. He lightly shook his head, spraying water droplets on the walls, and then reached for one of the white towels stacked nearby on the wall and pushed his wet face into it. It smelled of him and of hot steam. 

He stepped out of the shower and onto the furry white rug, avoiding the water on the floor. He started with his hair first, rubbing and rubbing at the wet locks until he was satisfied. He shook his already messy hair out of his face and dried the rest of his body. He avoided the mirror.

Raiden walked back into his bedroom and pulled out some drawers from his dresser, pulling out a long shirt with short sleeves and another pair of black sweatpants. He tossed the wet towel carelessly to the floor and changed into the new clothes. He was starting to feel... refreshed.

It wasn't until he was about to leave the room when he realized something. He'd slept in his skin. His synthetic skin. 

He held up his arm so that he could see using the sunlight that was slowly seeping into the room. Had he always been so pale? He couldn't remember when he put it back on.

He lightly touched the arm and focused on the feeling. The skin felt... soft. Silky almost. Designed to be perfect. No blemishes, no marks. His hands were the same.

It felt wrong. His skin should have marks, scars, calluses. But it felt... normal. He felt normal.

He was tired, he should have just gone back to sleep. But his body shivered at the thought of what awaited him in sleep. The tricks his mind used on him. The repressed memories coming back to haunt him.

_Bullets landing near his head, a ringing sound in his ear. The sound of a knife digging into flesh, hot blood splashing onto his hands, quickly cooling. Comrades falling to the ground, dead. The boys he'd grown up with. The boys he commanded. He looked to one that was long dead. His eye was gone. He could be next. At anytime. A bullet in his chest, his head. A knife digging into his throat, cutting him up. Maybe he wanted it. Maybe it was better. Better than waiting for it. They wouldn't be too happy if he came back dead._

He ended up on his knees. How did that happen? He was shaking, his arms wrapped around his body. He wished he could forget, he wanted to forget. He'd forgotten for years until it all came back. 

Water. He needed water. He forced himself up from the ground and leaned against the wardrobe, his legs unsteady. He persevered through the haze and stumbled out of his room and into his apartment's living room. The sunlight was filling the room and he squinted as the light went straight for his eyes. He walked forward and used the back of the couch to steady himself while making his way towards the kitchen. 

By the time he got to the sink, he felt sick. He leaned forward but nothing came up. He breathed harshly and spit into the sink, turning on the water to wash it down. He stayed in that position, head down and spit dripping out of his mouth. He cupped his shaky hands and brought some water to his mouth, rinsing and then spitting it out into the sink and repeating the process. After washing out his mouth, he cupped his hands once more and slowly drank the cold water. He drank until his hands were freezing and he felt sick again. 

When he straightened up, it still felt like something was going to come up but the water had helped. Water had dripped down his chin and wet the collar of his shirt but it felt good against his hot body. He was sweating. It wasn't sweat, it was fake. Something his body made in response to heat. 

He pulled open the fridge and looked inside, despite already knowing that nothing would be appealing to him. He pushed to the back of the fridge and pulled out a small circular container. The container didn't look anything like his usual tupperware, it looked like something he would see on one of those cheesy sci-fi movies he sometimes watched. Probably because it actually came from a lab. He had at least two dozen other similar looking containers stored in the back of his fridge. 

The good Doktor had done some research in his spare time (Raiden was surprised to hear that he actually had any free time) and had analyzed the way Raiden's body absorbed electrolytes and gained energy. He started developing these little packets of concentrated nanopaste as a way for cyborgs with certain systems to get the energy they needed without having to go through the hassle some cybernetic companies like to give them. With paperwork and the cost, not to mention the judgement, it was like torture for a cyborg who needed it. Raiden was lucky he got his new body from his own special Doktor, he could eat normal food no problem. Some cyborgs weren't so lucky. Doktor would always use Raiden as his little guinea pig so he gave him a bag full of the containers for testing and would record the data he got after consumption. Raiden had only eaten two samples so far and they were in much smaller containers but he felt pretty good after finishing them off, so things were looking good so far. 

Being able to help others who were dealing with the same problems as him felt good too. He understood how it felt to stand out among the crowd. If this little test run went well, Doktor could probably get it sent out to companies or Maverick itself could send them. Who knows, maybe one day he'd take a trip to the local supermarket and find a packet of the same black containers he was holding with a big sticker with Doktor's face on it. The thought made him chuckle. 

He walked back into his living room and took on a seat in the middle of the couch, sinking into the cushion. He reached over to grab the remote control sitting on the coffee table and switched on the TV. He flipped through the channels until he found a news station he frequently watched and set the remote on the cushion beside him. While the blond woman on the screen was speaking, Raiden twisted the cap off the black container and set it down on the coffee table. 

Seeing the electrolyte food was always strange at first. It was like opening a bag of cyborg chips. They were tiny slabs of black and the neon blue center was actually kind of squishy to the touch. He pulled one out of the container and placed it in his mouth. It didn't have a distinct taste so far, it tasted almost like a glass of ice water. He chomped down on it and felt his mouth tingle with the pure energy that came from the tiny piece. It was crunchy, the crunch was what he always forgot about. Not hard enough to hurt his teeth or his jaw but the sound would probably give him a headache if he ate too much. He chewed a few more times and then swallowed, once again surprised that it was smooth going down his throat. He expected little sharp chunks to get stuck somewhere and choke him. 

He smiled and lightly shook his head. _Once again, I underestimate you, Doktor._

While he nibbled on his breakfast, he turned up the volume on his TV to hear the news report. Simple, everyday things as usual. Traffic, weather warnings, a few crashes down by the busy street near his apartment building. Nothing really interesting. 

" _The continent of Africa is slowly rebuilding itself after a devastating attack on one of it's eastern cities nearly a year ago, resulting in around 500 wounded and nationwide panic. The attack led to the deaths of the country's leader, Prime Minister N'Mani, and his aid. It was thought to be the work of a private military company that had enough manpower to eventually take over the capital. Many citizens are slowly working their way back to the city, only to find that their home had been destroyed. The US military is organizing fundraisers to help send food and supplies to these victims, as well as to help rebuild what has been lost. If you would like to help, please contact-_ " 

Raiden switched the channel until it landed on some documentary about the history of the Cold War. He felt sick again. 

He set down the half empty container and stared blankly towards the TV, not paying any attention to the program. Not a day went by he didn't think about that day in Africa. Three years of progress, three years of peace. All gone in one single moment. 

Sam, Desperado, their RAY. Armstrong. He couldn't stop them, he hadn't been strong enough.

He failed that day. 

He took a deep breath and brought his hands up to his face, leaning back so his head was resting on the back of the couch. He ran his fingers through his damp hair and stared at the white ceiling. He didn't know what to think, didn't know what to feel anymore. He didn't know what to do. 

_You're too harsh on yourself, Raiden. This is why you can't sleep at night. This is why the nightmares keep coming back. It's because you're letting them, you're making yourself suffer. You need to get it together._

He didn't know whose voice that was or where those words were coming from, but he was tempted to argue. Argue with his own thoughts. 

'Talking to yourself is a sign of madness. Maybe I'm already halfway there.' He thought not outloud, but to whoever that was in his head that was trying to win him over. 

_You're doing it again. Why do you do that to yourself, Raiden? Why do you make yourself suffer like this? Do you think you deserve it? Deserve it for what? Saving countless lives? Protecting the innocent?_

'I didn't save them, nobody even knows who I am. Nobody even knows what happened in Africa, in Colorado. Nobody knows but me and I have to live with it. I can't suppress the memories, I've tried and look what happened; they come back years later to haunt me and torture me.' 

_You mean what happened during the war. Jack. You were just a boy. They tortured you. He killed your parents and forced you to fight in a war in your own country. You were only ten, Jack! Where is all the weight on your shoulders coming from?_

'I killed them! I was Jack the Ripper. I was the White Devil. I killed boys that were my age, younger even. I taught them the best ways to slaughter others. I may not have started that war, Lord knows I never wanted to be a part of it, but I can't ever take back what I did. I'm a cold blooded murderer.' 

_Would a cold blooded murderer feel remorse? Would a cold blooded killer feel regret? You turned your life around, met the girl of your dreams, you met the legendary Solid Snake, you saved the world more than once. Don't you think that matters._

Raiden scoffed and lightly rolled his eyes. 

'Girl of my dreams. The girl of my dreams wouldn't shape herself to fit my image. Wouldn't spy on me and report every little thing I did to a secret Illuminati. Besides, I didn't save the world. Snake did. Snake was the hero, I was just the screw up who got in the way too many times.' 

_That's not true. You know it's not. You love to make up excuses for yourself. It's time to wake up, realize your potential and your worth. What you mean to this world. To your friends. The people who care about you. Think about that, Jack._

He couldn't think of any retort that would be argumentative enough so he bit his tongue and shut his eyes tight. He felt tired again. So tired. Maybe he really was insane. Or maybe that little voice inside his head, his tiny voice of reason, was right. 

"God, I'm a mess." 

He switched off the TV and grabbed the half empty container, putting it back in his fridge. He took short steps leading back into his bedroom and stepped over the dirty clothes still lying on the floor. He pulled back the blankets and laid down flat on his back, staring up into the ceiling. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held it for five seconds and then released it, repeating the process a few more times until he was finally asleep. 

He did dream but it was... normal. Nothing special but nothing more. It felt empty but relaxing. 

When he woke up again, he felt lighter than he had in a long time. 


End file.
